Under The Weather
by enRAGEd
Summary: One-Shot Drabble. Living on the run, with only one another for company, they saw the very best, and the very worst, of each other. Ten years post-RE2/CV.


**Resident Evil: Under The Weather**

He found her standing at the roadside, down the street from the squalid little apartment they rented, staring into the neon blur, a trail of brake lights with shop sign glow suspended above. It was a risky move, particularly considering what she was wearing. If any of Wesker's agents had been searching the neighbourhood for them, they'd have spotted her for sure. That made him angry, primarily because he'd decided, when they'd escaped, that he was going to be her protector.

It was his fault that she was out there; the blame fell upon his shoulders, but she would suffer the brunt of his guilt, just as he withstood hers. Living on the run, with only one another for company, they saw the very best, and the very worst, of each other.

He strode after her, his white vest top and combats already drenched with the rain, his bare feet slick with mud and blood from where broken glass and sharp rocks had done their damage. The Glock tucked into the back of his trousers reminded him, constantly, of what they were running from, why he had to get her inside as quickly as possible.

She was standing under a streetlamp, glowing like the angel emblazoned on her back, long hair hanging sodden and lifeless around her head. He wondered what she saw in the city's lights, whether she longed to be with those people again, to be like them, or whether staring at them gave her a sense of connection that he couldn't give her. That made his anger vanish, made an ache form in the pit of his stomach. He wanted, more than anything else, to make her feel complete. With him, there, always, she didn't need to feel isolated or alone. But she did, and that was his fault.

If it hadn't been for the blonde of her hair, he might have confused her for Claire, standing soaked to the skin in her blue jeans, boots and that jacket - always that jacket. She had kept it for years - he wondered how many it had been now - a keepsake of her ordeal in Raccoon City, when the other woman had saved her life. The only thing _he_ had to remember her by was the tender sting on his lips, the faded memory of the last kiss they had shared as he felt his life ebbing away in that frigid dungeon.

As he approached, she turned to face him, azure eyes full of hurt and sadness. He couldn't tell if she was crying; she didn't make any effort to wipe the raindrops from her face so he would know either way. They stood facing one another for an achingly long moment, though it was only a few seconds, a silent tension filling the air that spoke of pain. He knew he should say something. Instead, he said nothing, choosing to simply stare back at her, meeting her gaze evenly. Speaking was what had got them into this trouble in the first place.

He'd said: "you're all I have". He should have said: "you're all I want", or "you're all I need". Instead, the implication had been clear. She'd run out of the building, for his sake as well as hers. If he tried to rationalise his words, he'd have provoked her, made her lash out, and neither of them wanted that to happen. Again. They each knew the words that wounded the other; to trust - to love - another person was a dangerous thing.

He'd stopped just long enough to grab his pistol before following her out into the rain.

Eventually, he opened his mouth, ready to say the only words he knew that ever made her feel better, three words to communicate what they both already knew - that he cared for her, would always be there for her.

She cut him off.

"I miss her too," she confessed, lips trembling with emotion, sliding her arms around his thick torso, clinging to the wet fabric stuck to the musculature of his back.

They embraced for a long while, her head resting upon his chest, his hands holding her firmly to him, each feeding on the warmth of the other, though neither of them shivered. They were beyond human discomfort - viral augmentation had those kinds of side effects - though they still needed food, water, and sleep to survive. Instead, the heat served as a reminder of what had passed between them those last few years, a mutual affection, an understanding, a vow to stay together, no matter what.

It had begun as a love of convenience; after they'd escaped the lab, and Wesker, all they'd had was one another. Eventually, it had evolved into something more, something deeper. Still, there were always moments, times when the hardships they endured grew too much for them to bear, when it felt like nothing at all.

This wasn't one of those times - not anymore.

She moved in his arms and he looked down, only to find her lips suddenly pressed against his. That tender sting, that last memory of Claire, vanished, replaced by the warmth of the caress, his past melting away in the present. They shared that moment, as they shared every moment, chaste at first, then with growing passion. Emotion overcame them, their movements fuelled by a need, a desperation, a desire to communicate without the need for clumsy, awkward words. He loved her, and she knew it. She loved him, and he knew that. Nothing else seemed important.

Eventually, they parted. An upward quirk had appeared upon her lips, the beginnings of her smile brushing at the corners of his own mouth as they remained close despite no longer being entwined. Her taste lingered on his tongue, familiar and sweet, and all the sweeter for the expression she now wore, and the intimacy they had shared.

Nothing was said; they had no need of words when their actions could speak for them. Her mouth set in a soft smile, she gripped his hand and led him back, along the street, towards the apartment.

Their silence persisted until the morning, when they awoke, wrapped in each other's arms, and their lives continued. Good days would pass. Bad days would pass. Together was what mattered.


End file.
